N'agasta's Descendent and the Velothi Maiden
by Newtinmpls
Summary: Mer meets sload. Rated T for future romance (what can I say, I like weird pairings, and I can see a sort of logical way to get there). Morrowind story that starts in Hla Oad. Includes: Okur (slightly OOC).
1. Chapter 1

_Authors note: Every so often I'd see someone wearing that outfit that I thought of as 'the spider dress' I think Samia in Pelagiad is one who wears it. Well, what is up with that anyway? That is where the original idea for this story came from. Sort of. Also, for this story I have adopted the Morrowind convention that spell-learning and spell-creating doesn't take much objective time. However in my 'world' it's not nearly as safe as it is in-game. If a spell is "too powerful" you certainly could cast it 'anyway'. Bad things would happen. _

_In game, Hla Oad is a little scrap of a town south of Balmora. Despite (or maybe because of) its small size, it's quite a hotbed of villainy. _

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own creation. Reviews and plot bunnies are always appreciated; any used plot bunnies will be credited.**

Midnabi woke as the first light of dawn turned the skies from black to faint grey-blue. She carefully crept out of her bedroll in the corner of the room. A woven screen blocked off the area that her mother Fadila used as a more private area. By the door she noted a large pair of chitin boots. Apparently her mother had been entertaining again. Which was fine, of course, Midnabi would never criticize family.

Hastily she made the sign of reverence toward the small ebony oval that hung near the door of their shack. "_Ancestors guarding the waiting door, bless your family-that-remains_" she whispered under her breath.

Once she had eased the door closed behind her, she relaxed slightly. She ran her hands hastily through her overly long silver hair, and quickly plaited it into one long braid. It was easier to keep track of that way. Her brown leggings bore a few greenish smudges down the side of her right leg, but there wasn't anything to be done about it. Fortunately her tunic was more mottled in color and didn't really show the few stains.

She made her careful way toward the docks. Telura, her occasional instructor in the arcane and alchemical arts, had mentioned being interested in rare ingredients. Which, practically speaking, meant just about anything that wasn't growing nearby and easily picked. It had occurred to Midnabi that the The Harpy, Hla Oad's one locally owned ship (and calling it that was being quite generous) usually travelled the shallows and the running boards often picked up various shoal-growing plants. Maybe one of them would be useful.

Down by the docks, she saw a second ship next to The Harpy. She recognized it as the Chun-Ook out of Ebonhart. It was in a little better repair than usual, and had been recently touched up with some kind of lacquer. The rails had a sheen that hadn't been there previously. She could hear the low voices of dunmer, and she paused. Peeking around the nearest shack, she saw Baleni Salavel, the shipmaster of The Harpy. She had one hand to her knife belt, but her expression was amused. Doing most of the talking was a gold-and-green garbed man with a greying goatee and an expression of excessive sincerity.

He was gesturing extravagantly, "So then he tells me he found a spawning grounds for shoal grubs, tells me it's a higher tide-pool, and if I'll provide transport before high tide the next day, he'll split the harvest with me," pausing, he raised a hand, "now I know well that Faldras Arinith wouldn't know a shoal grub from a scrib, so I tell him I'll make him a deal. If he has found what he says he found, then I'll provide the transport and we'll split 50-50. But if he hasn't found what he says he's found, then he owes me transport fee and the next deal he offers will be 60-40, and I'll be claiming the 60."

"I notice you phrased your deal most carefully," Baleni murmured appreciatively.

"Indeed." He looked insufferably pleased with himself.

Baleni said. "Since you look as smug as an ordinator, I'm suspecting that things worked out well for you."

"Indeed. I was right, and those were no shoal grubs." He paused expectantly. When she made a get-on-with-it gesture he added, "They were Sload larvae."

"Sweet Azura, how many?"

He chuckled. "I have two barrels full down in my hold. They're barely half the size of scribs. I know I owe you a favor-"

"More than one."

"So I'll give you one of the barrels."

She looked pleased, then rueful. "Neat, Serjo, with one move you wipe out your debt to me and put me into your debt."

"Unless you refuse." His voice was teasing.

She shook her head. "You are tempting when you want to be, Nevosi my friend."

Midnabi considered. Telura Ulver, her sometime instructor in the art of spell-weaving was always on the lookout for valuable alchemical ingredients, and Sload grubs were a source of a particularly valuable substance. If she recalled her lessons right it was one of the few treatments for rockjoint or helljoint: both diseases could cripple if left untreated.

It was true that Perien Aurelie, who ran the local tradehouse would also be interested, but since Midnabi suspected that Baleri and Nevosi were going to be approaching her with their supply, so that wasn't a wise choice.

As the two older dunmer walked off arm-in-arm to discuss things further over a bottle or three of sujamma, Midnabi made her careful way to the docks. It was early enough that few mer were about, so made her way to the stern of the ship, where any guards were unlikely to be. She heard snoring from below.

Imperials. Had to be. Humans were such creatures of habit. As Telura had taught her, they invariably drank well at night and paid for it in the morning. She made her silent way into the hold, slipping past the one sleeping - yes - Imperial guard.

Among the crates, she easily noted two barrels, braced in place with nets strapped over their tops. The floor nearby was a bit wet. As she made her careful way through the supplies, she noticed a trail of sorts, a foot wide path of water around several boxes. Curious, she followed it.

Behind the third crate she saw something. It looked like a cross between a starfish and one of the soft easily shaped pillows that might be placed in a child's bed. It was maybe the size of a small Kwama egg, but it was dark, almost a grey-black in color. She couldn't help thinking that it was adorable.

It turned toward her as she approached, and then extended two … protrusions? They seemed a little like arms or hands. Midnabi wasn't entirely sure. Small fingers extended from the hands, and one palm turned up, the other turned down, reminiscent of how an instructor in spellweaving would indicate for the student to approach.

Midnabi knelt by the creature and gently put her palms out to meet it.

And felt the unmistakable energies of the little creature's magica open around her. It was holding magicka for her, just as Telura had when teaching Midnabi to weave spells. Granted, the young dunmer was not very experienced, but the sensation was unmistakable.

Several things hit her at once. This little being was sentient. This was its attempt to communicate with her. So she had better make the most of it. So, what was needed here? What could she do? The only two spells she'd actually managed to learn were a minor healing spell and a little cantrip to calm down an aggressive creature.

Well, that latter spell meant she had experience affecting the mind. And wasn't communication something to do with the mind? Good start, but she remembered Telura's lecture on restrictions. The more open-ended a spell was, the more power it required, and Midnabi wasn't really all that powerful. So she needed this spell to be very precise. Precision, not power. So communication between two entities. No, make that two willing entities. Two willing, touching entities. Make it for no more than a minute; after all she was certainly willing to call up this magick as often as needed.

She caught a sense of approval from the little Sload. Midnabi's eyes widened. Not only could it hold magicka, but it could sense quite a bit of what she was doing. This was no unintelligent grub, this was a thoughtful individual. Promptly she cast the spell she'd just created. It seemed to work; now she could feel something with her mind the way she could feel the creature's hands with her own.

_'Hello?_' She sent the thought cautiously outward, not sure what to expect. _'My name is Midnabi_.'

What she got back wasn't words at first. Curiosity, hungry and urgent against a background of watching elders, unimpressed and waiting for *something* to weed out too much *noise*? A sensation of being one in a crowd, waving for attention, but no attention would be given until the crowd thinned. Was thinned. Memories of silvery predators, snapping, snapping, sounds of teeth gnashing, blood in the waters, holding still, very still. Not exactly fear, but awareness of danger and consequences.

Something older, touching, holding out *magic?* a test and a question, waiting for her to form an answer *a spell?* Shaping weaving magicka seeing more distantly brightness and shapes and close and far.

Resting and safe (no, thought Minabi, safe was too strong), but then not. Waves and motion and night and moving and flying and landing but not hurt, resting, sore. Found by something large that flickered with smug amusement and disgust that was sharp like sunburn, like scraping. Swimming and lost and no familiar *trails?* *smells?* and a veil that trapped and crowded together with others, tumbled and angry. Perceptions of other's hunger, impatience. Finding open air, danger, but maybe safer. Creeping slowly. Then touched by the attention of something soft *not-disgust*, and *maybe-safe* and Midnabi suddenly realized that this was the little Sload's perception of her.

Not-disgust and maybe-safe. She would have to think about that.

There came a snort and an exhalation of breath from where Midnabi had passed the guard. She crouched behind a pile of crates, and hastily lifted her shirt, pressing the young Sload up against her belly. Thin rubbery arms extended themselves around her torso and held snugly.

First order of business was to get out of here. Listening carefully, she heard the guard shift position and settle down. Better to wait, so while she crouched, she cast her new spell again.

She'd initially expected that it would feel like normal conversation, but apparently Sload and Mer didn't think very much alike. Still, it was all she had at the moment.

_'Do you have family_?' Midnabi tried to send concepts and not just words. She was wondering if there was a home that this little one wanted to return to.

The answering images were of regimented competition, weakness rewarded by damage.

Weeding out the weak - or was it being weeded out? The knowledge that many had been produced, so if she perished, the whole would not be lessened. Curiosity about attention, about being noticed, being ... gently regarded. An odd sensation and a new one. Welcome.

Midnabi realized that this was how the Sload saw her. Sload culture must be very different from that of mer.

_'How old are you_?' She wondered.

She received a sensation of waves, of alternating warmth and ice, and eventually something that seemed to resolve into 'thirty two seasons' or that was as close as she could put it. If the alternation of ice and warmth meant a year, then that would put this Sload at about 17 years. Midnabi herself was 16.

Then an image of two hands clasping two hands, and the imagery faded.

After a moment she realized that while she had been able to create some magic, the Sload had not. So she carefully reached her hands under her tunic. The spell faded, but she could sense the mystical potential of her physically small partner. She held out her own power to create a space for a weaving to be born.

She could feel sorting, colors, almost tastes. A breath of refreshing cool on skin, softer than a breeze. Water. The shaping folded into itself, and Midnabi thought about what it could accomplish. Keeping something, not exactly wet, but not letting needed water dry out. Of course, a young Sload wouldn't do well on land. Not without help.

Then a pause.

Midnabi considered. Despite the fact that working with magic felt like it took a long time subjectively, it never took long in actual time. Another minute or two was a little bit of time for the guard to fall more deeply asleep. So she attempted to send encouragement, to strengthen her presence as a space for the youngster to work.

A tendril of energy gently extended toward her. Then another pause.

Finally getting the hint, Midnabi cast her communication spell. All right at this rate, she was going to need to enchant some sort of item to hold the spell more permanently. She got a sense of eagerness in response, then an image of sparkling, a swiftly swimming shape the size of Midnabi herself, furred and toothed but an eater of plants first and a threat only later. Then up into dangerous lack of wet; and then largish movable ringed and things that floated away. Grinding together and then concentrating and small things suddenly big and detailed.

'_What was that_?' But by the time she could formulate the question, her spell had faded.

She cast it again, and this time the little sload sent clearer images, separated by short pauses. First was the huge undulating swimmer, with a sense of concentration on sharp pale protruding teeth that dug among shallow seaweed. Then a pause. Next was a sense of a slow, effort-filled struggle through dangerously shallow waters, to find a wide columnar somethings. Midnabi understood this time that the sload meant to indicate whatever was inside them. It made her think of muck sponges. As she thought of that, she got a flash of enthusiasm from the little sload. Then another pause, and then a series that was clearly meant to be connected together. Something blurry or fuzzy, a full tummy, and then the blurry or fuzzy thing revealed as many interlocking details.

She had to cast the spell again, and the guard was snoring loudly by the time she realized what the sload was getting at. Alchemy. A preparation to increase intelligence. Using ingredients that Midnabi had never heard of.

'_Wow_,' She sent back, '_That sounds … like maybe we could do it. But we have to get out of the boat first._' And hopefully before Baleni and Nevosi arrived.


	2. Chapter 2

_Authors note: __"Sload Soap is a waxy substance made from the immature non-sentient forms of the Sload" – this is a description of one of the many alchemical ingredients that comes from a living being. Think about it. Couldn't a 2-month old man or mer be described with some accuracy as an 'immature non-sentient form'? In my book harvesting sentient critters even when they are 'too young' to be sentient is just plain evil. Of course what with legal slavery and soul-trapping, there are lots of ethically questionable things going on in Morrowind. _

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own creation. Reviews and plot bunnies are always appreciated; any used plot bunnies will be credited.**

Midnabi sighed in relief as the Imperial guard slumped even more, his snoring getting louder. Silently she cast another brief communication spell, and murmured to the little sload tucked under her tunic. '_He's deeply asleep now, it's time to go'_

The response was a mixture of surprise, confusion and an image of a too-dry too-hot struggling fairly shapeless entity.

_No_, she sent to the sload. _He's not dying, he's resting. Sleeping_. Did sload not sleep? Midnabi tried to send sequential images of herself under sunlight walking around harvesting plants, and then when the sun set, laying down and closing her eyes and covering up with a blanket and sleeping.

The response she got back felt like someone shaking their head in confusion. A sense of silver jaws swimming to attack, and with eyes closed, there was no warning. Then an echo of Midnabi's image of being under a blanket, limbs tangled, quickly followed by images of struggling, silver flashing of jaws and bursts of blood and bits of flesh in an expanding cloud in the water.

The spell expired at that point. Which was about the only reason that Midnabi didn't actually throw up.

Carefully she crept through the tangled path between barrels. Glancing at the floor, she noted that the damp trail that the little sload had made was dry. Good. It wouldn't be obvious that one of the captives had escaped.

She also noted that the sleeping guard had a leather satchel. She was tempted, but only for a moment. No one would miss one of the sload. A hired guard would certainly miss his personal effects.

Wait, she thought to herself. Personal. Before going she should really look around. What else might there be several of in the hold here; that maybe she could take one or two without being noted? There were a number of crates. She eased herself along them, and checked the nearest to see how tightly it was sealed.

The first one she checked didn't open easily, so she let it go. The second wasn't fastened well at all, and she cautiously reached inside. Packed among what felt like whickwheat straw were many cool, possibly ceramic items. She ran her fingertips over what she could reach. Differing widths of rounded flat things. Plates? Platters? It didn't seem like any two were exactly the same. Probably a collection of similar items, as opposed to a set, so she decided that she could probably take one or two without anyone the wiser.

Carefully she eased one out, and slowly tucked it under her shirt. As it brushed against the sload, she felt the little one's startled reaction. Quickly she cast her spell.

'_Sorry to surprise you like that_,' She sent, '_I wanted to take something valuable from here. We'll need money._'

She was unprepared for the detailed response. Counting and calculations; distance and travel, increasing the value of what was harvested by bringing it where few such were to be found. Satisfaction with each transaction. Then a sense of companionship between them, gold exchanged for … something she couldn't follow. Dark, crystalline … blood maybe? Solid pieces of blood?

She cast the spell again, and held still, concentrating on the detailed imagery.

Thick, slow, glacial flows, gathered up in stone hollows, or teased out by *skill* or *power*? After a moment she decided it must mean magick. Then a sense of hollowness with the 'drops' and then a sense of gore and death, and then an echo of gore and death within the 'drops'? Then a sense of reaching out, of the sload wanting some kind of … acknowledgement?

She shook her head. They might be the same age, but she was beginning to get the feeling that in some ways, this little one was much more experienced, and possibly much smarter than she was.

She cast again. She was starting to get a little tired.

Okay, start simple. What's valuable from the sea? She pictured herself taking pearls from a large kollop shell. Then trading the pearls to Trasteve, the dark-skinned R'gatta for gleaming septims. Then she visualized trading the septims to the dour dunmer Dalam Gavyn who then hammered layers of chitin to create a sword. Then she visualized trading septims to golden haired Perien Aurelie, and getting a bowl of stew and eagerly devouring it.

She felt an eager reply; taking pearls from the shallows, with an exact pile of septims superimposed over them. Then slowly travelling to dryer places (inland, she translated to herself), with the superimposed pile of septims growing larger. Clearly the sload understood the principals of trade.

Then she heard quick steps and dunmer voices.

Her heart sank.

At the same time, she felt a quick prodding of energy and magic from the sload, felt the plate taken from her hands and held tightly, and small hands reach for hers.

Well, if the sload had an idea for a spell that would save them, then by Azura she'd hold magicka. She closed her eyes, and tried to offer as much as she could. Unfortunately she was drained by her recent spellcasting. She hoped what little still remained would be enough.

She could feel her friend flicker through disappointment, understanding, concentration, and then an intent twist of spellweaving.

As soon as the sensations faded, she made her way to the back of the boat. If she could climb out the way she'd gotten in, no one should be the wiser. Behind her she could hear the sounds of the hatch being opened. Then the startled snort of the guard waking up. Good, he was worried about his employer for the moment, not about her.

She crept slowly along, and felt the tingle of magick sweep over her. For a moment she saw her own hands fade from view. It was very disorienting. Half closing her eyes, she concentrated on the feel of the ship, not what she was seeing. Waves of energy alternated with moments of seeing her hands more or less clearly.

She kept moving, and soon she could feel the little sload trembling. But still her hands kept on fading from her sight.

Away from the ship, she patted the sload. Casting her own spell one last time, she murmured. '_We are out of the ship. I'll take us to a place to hide, and you can rest_.'

At first, a brief sense of agreement, and a whisper of hunger was all she got back. Then an echo of something that the sload had sent earlier. A very large sload weaving magick; holding a black "drop", images of swirls of blood, and then paired hands, the sloads and hers, holding something that brimmed with magika.

At first Midnabi kept trudging along. In her repeated quests to find alchemical ingredients for Telura, she knew a couple of hiding spots that should be safe for a while. One in particular, a hollowed out oversized ferntree husk, had been tipped by a storm and should provide safety as well as shelter from all but the worst weather.

As she was approaching it, mulling over the sload's imagery, she suddenly stopped dead.

"Wait." She was so surprised that she actually spoke out loud. "You want us to find someone who can make a soul gem?"

Could they actually be made?

She tried casting her spell again, but there was no answer from the sload. Exhausted, probably. Hungry, it had said. She detoured to harvest everything that she knew was edible, and a few things that at least weren't toxic. After a rest, both of them were going to be plenty hungry.

Still, she kept wondering. Could soul gems be made? Did Telura know about this?


	3. Chapter 3

_Authors note: Across the Elder Scrolls universe, there aren't a lot of firm conclusions to be drawn about soul gems. They can be found (in Skyrim), and they can be "changed" (to 'black' = able to hold the souls of men/mer) (in Oblivion). For purposes of this fiction, they are formed of the Ebony, either as naturally occuring crystals or as deliberately shaped items which can be used to "catch" the energies of death. Releasing those energies usually cracks the gem and renders it useless, however a few reusable specimens do exist; evidence that craftsmanship can effect the gem's abilities. Note that per Dunmer lore, the Ebony to be found on Morrowind is mined, not grown, and can be worked. It is held to be the blood of the gods/daedra. Now, consider how valuable that must be, then think about this: Vivec 'summoned' an entire small moon/asteroid and then mined it. Want to guess what he might have mined?_

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own creation. Reviews and plot bunnies are always appreciated; any used plot bunnies will be credited.**

Midnabi gathered everything she could that seemed even remotely edible. Unfortunatly it wasn't much. Comberries grew only in fairer parts of Vvardenfell. The local bitter berries weren't ripe yet, but she found a few that looked acceptable. Corkbulb fronds were bland but edible, she even waded through a particularly mucky lakelet to deliberately catch a few limpet leeches, along with a slow moving foot long grubsnake by the shore. Along with an armful of bunglers bane and hyper facia it would have to do.

Cautiously she approached the fallen ferntree husk. A thumping sound from inside told her that a scrib had taken refuge. Grinning, she crept slowly foward and settled herself near the doorway. Scribs were the easiest of prey. A live one wandering around was pretty much a comment that nothing predatory was nearby, or had been for some time.

Sure enough, slowly meandering out of the back of the husk came a pale many-legged insect about two thirds of the size of Midnabi's torso. She held out the grubsnake near it. The scrib thumped excitedly and then bit sharp teeth into the grubsnake which went abruptly still. The scrib prowled around it, poking at the now quiescent snake with it's snout. Eventually the mild venom wore off, the grubsnake started moving again, and the scrib bit it again.

Knowing the habits of scribs, she surmised that this one had never seen a grubsnake before and exploring it would probably occupy several hours, if not longer, before the scrib decided to actually eat it. Settling herself across the front of the husk, Midnabi made sure to keep the fungi and other foods near the sload in the curve of her arm. Then she relaxed herself into a drowse. A deep sleep might not be a good idea, but she'd done more spellwork this morning than she did most weeks, and she needed to let her energies replenish.

She woke to the sound of munching.

She had slept harder than she'd expected, and her first thought was to stretch and maybe have something to eat.

There was no food left.

In front of her was the little sload, looking slightly less little as it munched the last remaining leg of the scrib. scattered in front of it were the shells from the limpet leeches. The berries, the fungus - everything else was gone.

There was a moment of silence, and the sload gave an enourmous belch.

Midnabi giggled.

The sload turned around. And the puffy projections she'd noted before were definetly more like arms and legs. Well, kind of pudgy arms and legs to be sure, but the little sload (sload-let?) definetly looked more suited to land now.

Midnabi cast her communication spell. _I hope all those things were good food for you._

She got a sense of pleasure, satiation and gratitude. Then a belated concern for her own appetite, and a curiousity about the noise she'd made.

_That was laughter. I thought you looked cute and full._

She got a sort of a blank response, as if humor wasn't something Sload understood well. Then a flash of alarm at the same moment she became aware of footsteps behind her. Crap, she'd turned around in her sleep, and her back was to the opening of the husk. She scrambled to turn around.

Slightly crouched, and looking curiously in at her was a pale bearded face and a pair of blue eyes that twinkled with avarice.

"Well, what have we here?" He added something in a language she didn't understand, then again in dunmeri "Come out, little one."

Cold settled in Midnabi's belly as she got a better look at this nord who had discovered her hiding place. He was big, as most nords tended to be, wearing a padded vest covered in thick fur. Over one of his shoulders she could see part of the blade of what must be an enourmous axe, and she could see the hilt of a dagger poking out from his left boot.

She slowly crept forward, gathering herself, wary.

"Oh, let's get a look at you. Slender for my tastes, but you'll do."

He didn't even seem to care that he was making it clear that he intended to rob her or worse. Maybe he was used to foolish men; had he never faced a mer? Midnabi's lip curled. Her mother Fadile had been quite clear on how to handle disrespect from an outlander. She coiled magika, calling it to her, slowly, slowly.

Keeping crouched, she moved foward quickly, making the nord take a hasty step back. Then another.

Leaving his left foot foward.

Midnabi grabbed the dagger, anchoring flame to it as she jumped up, using the momentum from her movement to bury the dagger in the pale flesh just above the laces of his heavy vest. It was a good strike.

Then she heard a popping sound and suddely the sload was behind the nord, pushing foward at the man's knees.

He fell back, swearing, reaching for his axe.

Midnabi thrust harder into him, following him down, twisting the blade in his chest and adding a knee to the groin.

Another popping sound and the sload was gone. The nord hit hard, and went still.

Midnabi slowly stood up, looking around. She could see a cliff racer in the distance, but nothing nearer. Apparently this man had not come with friends. If he even had any. Which was kind of unlikely, she thought.

Beside her, the sload made a low coughing sound, then said slowly. "Youull doo."

"You can talk?" Midabi was astonished.

The sload looked up at her. Carefully it said. "Youu cann taallk?"

She couldn't really read it's expression, so she cast her communication spell again. _You can talk?_

She got back the feeling of a series of echoes. Yes, the sload could mimic sounds. Sort of. It was becoming clear to it/him/her (she wasn't really sure what sort of gender sload might have) that mer and men used sounds to communicate, and the sload was interested in this weird behavior.

The rest of the day was spent in looting the body of the Nord, interspersed with language lessons.

The looting part was the easiest. One fur curiass, still in pretty good shape, and once Midnabi tightened the laces, it wasn't a terrible fit. The boots were hopeless, the axe was to heavy, but the dagger was okay. He also had 13 septims, a small bottle of skooma and a strange looking red and gold figurine about the size of a wine bottle. She had no idea what it might be, but maybe Telura would know.

By this time, the sload had worked out the words for 'nord', 'money', 'skooma' (which seemed to be an enjoyable word for the sload to say, judging from the sheer number of times it was practiced), 'axe' and 'dagger'.

The sload had a good ear for sounds, well, if it had ears, which Midnabi wasn't certain of. The words for physical things pretty much seemed to make sense. Names became a problem. Sorting out that 'dunmer' was a type of being and that 'Midnabi' only refered to one individual, but 'Balvel' meant a family and 'Telvanni' meant a great house took a couple of hours, and even then she could tell it really wasn't making sense.

_Okay, so what is your name? What should I call you?_

The closest she could come to understanding what it would be called was a complicated numerical description of heredity which seemed to translate to "32 seasons of individual growth after 27 generations from N'gasta" because that was the most direct line to a named ancestor.

_Okay, I can just give you a name then. Are you a boy or a girl_?

What she got back was mostly about eggs. And apparently each sload physically could be either *a layer of eggs* or *an awakener of eggs* and she wasn't actually too clear on if the eggs were awakened before or after being ... laid? Apparently either would work. Then later in life when the dance of eggs lost it's appeal, the individual sload would *let go* the ability to reproduce. Apparently this sload had indeed already done both, but had no idea about any survival or identity of personal offspring.

Midnabi sat down.

The sload sat next to her.

She cast her communication spell again, but before she could ask anything, the sload directed a question at her.

*find/teach* and a series of images she'd seen earlier: a black "drop", images of swirls of blood, and then paired hands, the sloads and hers, holding something that brimmed with magika.

That's right. The sload had been sure that they could make soul gems, and there were ingredients that it had described that she'd never seen or heard of. So maybe they could do some research, or some work and then have something to trade with Telura, Midnabit's some time magical instructor.

First though, a name. She wasn't willing to just keep thinking of the sload as "the sload" and she didn't want to start thinking "it". A sentient being deserves a name.

_I'll call you Cruseth. _Midnabi told the sload. _It's a combination of what I would call a girl and what I would call a boy. _

"Cruuuseth. Crrruseth." The sload tried it out multiple times, apparently quite pleased. She thought that maybe there was something she wasn't grasping about her having given the sload a name, but it seemed to be a good thing, so she decided not to worry about it.

Oh, she was curious about one more thing.

_How did you end up behind that nord?_

Cruseth seemed surprised. *Perception of a nearby place* and intent, and magicka *movement* but through magicka and not space and then just being there.

_Can you teach me that_?

She got back surprise, pleasure, as sense of simplicity and then a long stream of what seemed like mathmatics and measurements.

Apparently 'easy' to a sload was not the same thing as 'easy' to a dunmer.


	4. Chapter 4

_Authors note: The Morrowind UESP wiki has much to say about names in the Elder Scrolls universe. Anyone curious about my choice of "Cruseth" as a name for a bi-gendered being is encouraged to go take a look at dunmer name prefixes and suffixes used in Arena. I also see dunmer as having a stronger sense than most of the fact that 'life and death' are both an important part of the cycle. Possibly more on that in future chapters. _

_Also, as per other of my Morrowind based stories, I am presuming that "dispose of the body" is actually a spell and pretty much any man or mer on Morrowind knows it. _

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own creation. Reviews and plot bunnies are always appreciated; any used plot bunnies will be credited.**

**~~Language and Math~~**

_Well_, Midnabi spell-sent to Cruseth _Let me just send this corpse to the waiting door._

She got back a sense of confusion, then a perception of the flesh of the former nord as a fairly high-quality protein source. Her stomach turned at the idea. Even beyond the gruesomeness of eating a person, she would have to be pretty far gone into starvation to eat this particular one.

_No, _She sent strongly, _it's not right to eat someone that is _she tried to make her thoughts inclusive of *_sentience_* and _self awareness_.

While Cruseth was considering this, she knelt forward near the body. Yes, she'd opposed him in life, but death was a part of anyone's journey that should be approached with respect. "Ancestors of this fallen one, show him the path he needs." Holding out her palms, she carefully disposed of the body into a flash of ash and dust.

She felt a strong flash of *surprise/confusion* and then a sense of measurements and increased amounts. For a moment she was half-expecting more, like she'd heard the beginning of a sentence and not the end of it. Then she realized that was exactly what had happened; her communication spell had ended.

Not for the first time, she realized that if either she or Cruseth could enchant something to allow a more permanent communication enspellment, it would really be nice. Which really meant that they should go talk to Telura sooner rather than later.

How would the elder sorceress react to a sload? Despite Midnabi's earlier dismay at the idea of eating the nord, she knew that sload soap was a valuable alchemical substance. On the other hand, Cruseth was significantly larger now. Was he too old to be used as ... an ingredient?

She took a deep breath, and cast her spell again.

First she tried to send her understanding of Telura. The dunmer sorceress' impatience, skill with alchemy and magicka, and then the relationship of instructor. That she was someone who Midnabi could learn from, but that there would be a price.

Cruseth replied with a sense of trading things, and values being similar, and growth happening, but with *_Midnabi /gentleness /ally_* staying the smaller, and *_Telura /danger /acceptable risk_* staying larger, and trying to grow faster than Midnabi was growing as they exchanged. In the equation Cruseth portrayed, the danger increased as the disparity increased. As a side branch of the equation, Cruseth displayed a value of Midnabi trading Cruseth/components to benefit herself in terms of *_risk/safety_*. Another side equation was a calculation of how far would any of the other sload grubs have gotten, and were any of them likely to have survived. A sense of *_Midnabi /gentleness /ally* _plus Cruseth being viewed as potentially equivalent to _Midnabi/ gentleness /ally* _plus *_alternate /unknown sload /youngling_*

All this came in a burst of values and equations that Midnabi struggled to understand enough to retain it after her spell ended. She was left with an aching head and a confused overlapping of emotionless equations where somehow she'd been expecting fear or sadness.

Cruseth settled down next to her.

She rubbed her hands against her forehead. "You are not just equal, just to be to be traded .. or betrayed for someone else." She muttered.

Cruseth carefully extended hands to her, one palm up and one down. A clear invitation to spell making.

"Yes," she nodded. "We need a better communication spell; or at least a longer one."

She held herself still, opening her magicka for Cruseth's exploration. She could feel ripples in their joint pool of magicka, more strongly than before. She suspected that it wouldn't be that easy to follow Cruseth's spellmaking so she didn't try. She just concentrated on holding out as much magicka, as carefully stable as she could.

She sat calmly, and judged from the ebb and flow of the energies that Cruseth was researching more than one spell. Considering how depleted she'd been the last time they worked together, he was probably taking advantage of the current relative bounty.

Eventually he withdrew his energies from hers, and she waited.

Magicka enveloped her, gently, forming a link between the two of them.

Cruseth asked. _"What is your *designation*?"_

Well, most of that question had made sense. "Midnabi of the Family Balvel of the Great House Hlaalu."

Cruseth considered that for long enough that Midnabi felt the spell fade away. Eventually he recast it and asked, _"what is the *equation* between you and *Telura /teacher*?"_

"I am one of her apprentices in the magickal arts. She is teaching me about spell-weaving and enchanting and alchemy." What else could she tell him about that? "I do work for her, such as bringing her components and information. Eventually if I show enough skill she will formally induct me into the mage's guide."

_"What is this *Group of Magickal Skill*?"_

She felt the slight pressure of a potential headache, and suspected that even with the spell, she was missing some of what he was trying to communicate. She tried to make her answer very clear.

"The Mages' Guide teaches responsible and appropriate use of magical arts and sells them to non-mages. It restricts advanced enchanting to mages with both the skills and the honor to use those skills in good ways." Cruseth's spell was still in force, so she continued, "this is as opposed to the necromancers of the Order of the Black Wyrm who use dark arts to pervert the natural cycle of life and death and distort the paths of those-who-approach-the-open-door."

The spell cut off again, so she stopped. This time Cruseth rubbed his face, and it was definitely more of a face than it had been before, with his hands.

She cast her own communication spell. "I'm hungry. We both need a rest. Let's look for food." Part of what she didn't say was that it was not a good idea to show up to visit Telura without having something to give her.

Cruseth agreed, and then said "*sound*?"

"Yes." She told him.

"Yess." He said. Then slowly added. "Cruuseth. Midnabi Ballvell. Nord. Mer. Monnneeyyy. Skooomaa. Aks. Dagerr."

Well, even if she couldn't learn his way of thinking and speaking, he had a pretty good start on hers. She led him to a ferntree trunk heavy with fungi. "Hypha facia. Bungler's Bane. Variegated Polypore."

Variegated Polypore immediately became Cruseth's second favorite word, right after skooma.

**~~Unexpected Mentor~~**

Over the rest of the day Midnabi and Cruseth slowly made their way roughly north. It was a more cautious route than she normally would have taken. She didn't go back home. She didn't intend to stop by any of the people she knew in Hla Oad.

It was dusk when they approached the Lazy Swamp, and that made it all the easier to see the pale blue glow that meant a draggle-tail vine with either pods or flowers. Midnabi hastily headed down into the muck, pointing ahead. "Draggle-tail vine." She winced at the chill of the water. While wearing the vest of the former nord kept her torso warmer, there was nothing to be done about keeping her feet warm while wading in muck. She intended to point out and name the ampoule pods, and if she was lucky she could also show him a coda flower or two.

Then came motion. Up out of the center of the shallow mucky lakelet was a lump that had looked like a large boulder until it moved. Up out of the water trailing nibble-weed came a claw almost as large as her forearm. Midnabi hastily backpedaled, reaching for the dagger she'd appropriated keeping it between her and the claw.

As the boulder rose higher, a second large claw rose up, followed by two much smaller ones and finally a pair of blue eyes.

"Mud crab." Muttered Midnabi. A really big one, and she was backing away uphill. Not the way she would have preferred to fight it.

From behind her came a crackling sound and a chill bolt of energy blasted mostly into the upper part of the rounded hump of shell rising out of the water. Shards of ice formed along the trailing water and weeds, shattering as the great claws reached forward.

Midnabi kept moving back, keeping her dagger out in front of her, looking for weak spots, trying to remember everything she'd heard or been told about mud crabs. The few times in Hla Oad that she'd had anything to do with them, she'd mostly been a bystander, and not any sort of participant. Well except for the sometimes eating the crab meat afterwards, which was quite good.

The creature moved closer, extending the second claw. She struck out and slightly downward, aiming at the point where the claw opened, but the hard chitin shell was unmarked.

"She stands in danger." The voice came from behind her.

Midnabi half turned, keeping prt of her attention for the crab. She saw a tall argonian striding toward the lakelet, holding a spear at the ready. The argonian had small paired horns just behind each temple, and her skin was mottled in shades of green, brown and tan.

Still keeping part of her attention on the mudcrab, Midnabi greeted her. "Okur!"

The argonian charged forward, spearing high. The head of her spear caught in a crevice in the still frost covered upper part of the shell. There was a cracking sound and then the spear head disappeared into the shell. The mudcrab gave a wailing cry. Okur leaned in, using her weight to tilt the mudcrab slightly up. This gave Midnabi opportunity and she drove her dagger into one of the thing's eyes.

There was a longer hissing squeal and both sets of the mudcrab's claws waved wildly.

Between spear and dagger, Midnabi made short work made short work of the mudcrab.

When it lay quiescent half out of the swamp, Okur commented. "This one stands ready."

For a moment the dunmer relaxed, but then Midnabi realized something. Since that first blast of cold, she had heard nothing from the sload.

"Cruseth!?" She struggled to jog rapidly up the mucky incline.

Laying splayed on the ground, face-up was the sload. He was covered in frost, especially his hands.

"CRUSETH!" Midnabi scrambled over to him and knelt down. He felt cold, well he usually felt cold. But this was colder. She couldn't just heat him up. She didn't know any healing spells. "I don't have any marshmerrow or wickwheat. What do I do?"

Okur knelt beside her. "Perhapss one has heard the warningss of the guide of mages about the dangerss when small skill attempts to control large powerss."

"Yes and I've also heard the rhetoric of the Telvanni who say that if your efforts wound you, then there was nothing to be valued in the first place. He was trying to help me."

She turned to the argonian. "Can you help him?"

When Okur didn't respond right away, she added quietly. "Please?"

"Tales tell that no dunmer has compassion for an outlander, and this one is surely described so." Despite her words, Okur reached inside her vest for a small vial. "Other tales claim that no Sload has compassion for any, even of its own race."

Carefully she set the vial to the little sload's lips, allowing a few spoonsfull into its mouth. Then she daubed the rest onto the blisters that were forming on Cruseth's hands and wrists.

As Midnabi watched, the frost receded, and the blisters seemed to shrink. Cruseth didn't wake up, but he looked much better.

"Thank you."

Okur put the vial away. "It is a poor custom to judge by seeing only race, and this one is wise in her youth to part from it." Her tone was approving. She got to her feet, and looked back toward the body of the mud crab.

"Darkness comes, and a good fire will keep many predatorss at bay. Come, you shall help me and I shall teach you."

Taking a look at the fungi that Midnabi and Cruseth had gathered, Okur sighed and patted Midnabi's head. "Thiss one surely is unused to being on her own. You have ssought much that an alchemisst will value, yet you have no meal."

First she showed Midnabi about fire-building, and then used a jagged iron blade to hack the crab apart. Much of the meat she set on leaf pads from the swamp to slowly dry out near the fire. She splintered all the claws, taking the choices meats from there, and started a stew with it, cooking it in the topmost rounded remains of the mud crab carapace, adding chunks of slough fern root.

"The roots?" Midnabi asked. "But Telura said they weren't good for anything."

Okur gave a wry laugh. "And this one sayss that feeding our bellies is a great good."

As the darkness became complete, Midnabi sat near Cruseth, usually keeping a hand to his shoulder. Or what she thought of as his shoulder anyway.

Okur's stew was really starting to smell quite appetizing when finally the sload stirred.

"Midnaabi Ballvell."

"Cruseth." Midnabi's tone was one of relief, and she immediately cast her communication spell. "Okur helped fight the mud crab, and she helped to heal you, and there will be some really good stew shortly."

His reply was a little jumbled. "_Cruseth *diminished value* *unsuccessful planning*_"

She wasn't entirely sure if the diminished value was about the wounds that remained, or if it was that the spell problem (was that the unsuccessful planning?) or if it meant that he felt bad about himself. Sweet Daedra, he'd saved her life, and she suspected that he knew enough about spellweaving to know the risk he'd taken. She thought of him, seeing him in her mind's eye, casting a spell to save her that would badly harm him. She gently patted his shoulder, hoping that she'd recalled rightly that was an unwounded area.

"Your value is just fine." She murmured.

He looked toward her, but said nothing, and didn't try to spellcast. She recalled that he'd originally described her as *gently regarding* him. Did that mean that he could sort of tell what she was feeling toward him?

Okur was dishing out portions of stew into several sections of attack claw. "Another sspell? This one hears your words easily, but only faintly the repliess of your companion."

Cruseth pointed to himself. "Crruseth."

Okur nodded, and pointed to herself. "Okur."

Cruseth was silent for a moment, and then said carefully, "Okoorr." He slightly rolled the final sound.

The argonian nodded, obviously pleased. "This hatchling has skilled ears."

Midnabi had been looking back and forth between them. "You hear him?"

"This one recallss the subtle duet of the sharp-beaked nightwings and their prey in the deepest marshes." Okur regarded the sload thoughtfully. "Cruseth singss in many soft and complex voices when he answerss the dunmer's magic."


End file.
